


Wolf's Bane

by cognomen, MayGlenn



Series: A Very Supernatural Starsky & Hutch [5]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag: The Fix, F/M, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Hutch is a Dumb Puppy, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Recovery, Torture, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: Hutch doesn’t know what to do with himself: he wasn’t kidding when he said Starsky was partner, best friend, brother, and lover to him, and now that he’s just his partner, the rest of his life feels empty.He means just to scratch an itch, but Hutch has always fallen hard and fast in love, so he finds himself dating an old fling named Jeanie. She’d broken it off to date a vampire for a while, but now she’s head-over-heels for Hutch, too. She doesn’t remotely fill the Starsky-shaped hole in Hutch’s life, but then he doesn’t have the kind of paycheck she wants in a man, either, so they’re just enjoying each other for now without thought for the future.“Well, I think you’ll get him eventually,” she says (and Hutch briefly thinks she's talking about Starsky). “Though maybe you shouldn’t sleep with your witnesses before a trial.”Starsky’s out of the loop, whether intentionally or unintentionally is a complicated matter. He knows about Jeanie, but he’s only met her in passing and he, perhaps petulantly, hasn’t made any further effort. Hutch’s business is his own off the clock, and that’s the way they’ve survived these past couple months.Dobey calls him as he goes past. “Your partner’s late!”





	1. Chapter 1

Hutch almost doesn’t know what to do with himself in the following weeks: he wasn’t kidding when he said Starsky was partner, best friend, brother, and lover to him, and now that he’s just his partner, the rest of his life feels empty. 

He means to just scratch an itch, but Hutch has always fallen hard and fast in love, so he finds himself dating an old fling named Jeanie. She’d broken it off to date a vampire for a while—

“The forbidden-love-thing,” she says, when they wake up in a bunk together after the full moon, “you know, vampires, werewolves? Also he was stinking rich.”

“ _ Also _ a crime boss Starsky and I have been trying to nail for years,” Hutch laughs, exasperated. 

—but now she’s head-over-heels in love with Hutch, too. She doesn’t remotely fill the Starsky-shaped hole in Hutch’s life, but then he doesn’t have the kind of paycheck she wants in a man, either, so they’re just enjoying each other for now without thought for the future. 

“Well, I think you’ll get him eventually,” she grins. “Though maybe you shouldn’t sleep with your witnesses before a trial.”

It’s hard for her to let go of Hutch when he gets up to go to work, but she does. She still has to stay pretty isolated, given that her boyfriend was still looking for her. The safehouse is well warded at least, and she trusts Hutch to keep her safe. 

Starsky’s out of the loop, whether intentionally or unintentionally is a complicated matter. He knows  _ about _ Jeanie, but he’s only met her in passing and he, perhaps petulantly, hasn’t made any further effort. Hutch’s business is his own off the clock, and that’s the way they’ve survived these past couple months. 

Dobey calls him as he goes past. 

“Your partner’s late!” Dobey barks at him, and all Starsky can do is shrug, and keep on walking. “Starsky!”

“What can I say, Cap?” Starsky grins back through the door at Captain Dobey. “Man’s brain turns to mush when a pretty lady comes in the picture, right?” 

The eyebrow that Dobey raises is very suspicious. The way Hutch took a week off for this girl was weird, when the boy never asked for more than a few days to visit his family. Also, while part of him is glad to see Hutch with a werewolf, he can’t help but think something’s wrong, and something has been wrong, for a while. “Come in here and shut the door.” 

Starsky has a sixth sense for awkward conversations, and he knows this is going to be one of them. He can’t avoid it, though, given that Dobey’s his superior officer. He steps inside with the air of a kid facing the principal, and does his best to sit down casually after closing the door, finishing his donut. Maybe if he projects a professional air, he can steer this toward work-only.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be here,” Starsky says, doing his best to offer a confident grin, like nothing’s wrong. 

Dobey waits, but nothing is forthcoming. He waits a little longer, until Starsky has finished his donut and is squirming. “I just want to make sure you’re alright, son. Not Hutch. You.” 

Starsky freezes for a moment, a little like he’s just come under a very uncomfortable magnifying glass. Then he manages a smile, a little sad but his best to project ‘everything is fine.’ “C’mon, Cap. Of course I am.”

The captain stares at him a little longer. “We’ve missed you. Two moons, now? Rosie kept howling. You know, no matter what goes on with you and Hutchinson, you’re still part of the pack. But he’s bothered you, somehow. That it?” 

There’s no real answer Starsky can give. He fidgets. How do you say, ‘ _ I don’t want to go make myself a temptation to Hutch’s other half, and I’m worried what it would feel like if I wasn’t even that’ _ to your boss, and a pack leader. 

Starsky is no more forthcoming, so Dobey sighs and waves him out. “If you want to talk, I’m here. But talk to someone. I’d say talk to Hutch, but…” 

“Things are complicated on that front,” Starsky says, with a shrug that’s almost— _ almost _ —vulnerable. But it’d be too revealing, and he’s mostly okay if he doesn’t think about it too much. “But I’ll come next month. I miss Rosie, too.”

“Okay,” Dobey says warmly, and then goes back to barking: “Figure out why the hell Hutch hasn’t shown up, tell him I’m docking his pay, and you find something to do til he shows up!” 

...

[ONE WEEK EARLIER]

Hutch comes home to water his plants before taking off up the coast to meet Jeanie. He hangs up his gun and his badge and his coat, even though he won’t be here long, and goes around with his blender and dutifully waters everything growing. He thinks about asking Starsky to come in and water them, but will probably call Kiko instead. If he even remembers. The plants will be fine. 

He’s just leaning over his bag to zip it up when he hears a movement behind him. That’s the only warning he gets before there’s a sickening smoke-smell he recognizes as burning wolfsbane and a dull thud to the back of his head that sends him spiraling to darkness. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hutch wakes groggy, smelling a whole lot (his own sweat, dank dampness of underground, a sickly-sweet smell of death, lots and lots of blood—some of it his, but the rest too much to tell—the distant scent of an herb that makes him cough—wolfsbane—and a coppery metallic scent that isn’t blood) but not seeing anything (blindfold).

Now, it’s the 1970s, so Hutch knows that vampires and werewolves generally have a workable if not friendly relationship, and their councils even interact civilly, like Hutch imagines Russia and the US interact at the diplomatic level. They know they have bigger problems than fighting each other, and Hutch even knows a few vampires through Huggy. Vampires wouldn’t be this stupid.

Megalomaniacal, heroin-pushing ex-boyfriend-to-Hutch’s-current-girlfriend vampires, however…

“He’s waking up,” Hutch hears, and then he realizes he already feels like shit. Like he’s been drugged—or worse, _poisoned_.

He shakes his head as if to clear it, and realizes his hands are tied to a chair behind him. No, not tied, shackled. Silver, and his wrists are already raw from it. _Oh, Hutchinson, you’re really in it this time…_

“Good, he can’t talk unless he’s awake,” a second voice says, and then gets a little closer. This one’s not a vampire, but he carries their scent, like he spends a lot of time with them. A not-so-gentle pat to Hutch’s face catches his attention. “Hey, come around, puppy. You need to tell us something important.”

“Stuff it,” Hutch says, slurring only slightly, and he coughs. The smell of burning wolfsbane is strong enough in here to knock out a vamp, too, probably, and he honestly wonders why it’s not hurting the humans who work for them. He tries to move his legs, but they’re shackled down, too. He feels the wolf roiling inside him, but he’ll only be worse off from the wolfsbane if he changes, so he doesn’t let him out. “I want to talk to your boss.”

“As far as you’re concerned, puppy, I am the boss,”  the voice tells him. Other hands are manipulating Hutch into position, holding him down and baring his arm. “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I think you’d rather the easy way. Where’s the girl?”

“What girl—”

Hutch doesn’t even get it out before a fist slams into the side of his face, knocking his teeth together and sending his head spinning. He tastes blood, and spits, hoping some gets on their shoes.

“Don’t play games with us, Hutchinson.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m Starsk—”

Another fist, this one to his temple, making bile rise to his throat from the pain.

“You’ll give her to us,” the voice says, with a hint of the sort of command Vampires can exude, but when Hutch proves further stubborn, the sound of him moving away and speaking in low tones in the other room is followed swiftly by the push of a needle into Hutch’s arm.

“The first step of a long journey,” the voice tells Hutch as his whole body starts to go slack. “It ends when you tell us where you’re hiding Jeanie.”

It burns going up his arm, and feels like he’s just taken a shot of some bad tequila that makes him feel numb and sick almost at once. Hutch struggles again, this time enough to get to his feet, but there must be three of them at least, and his legs are still tied to the chair, so they shove him back down.

One of them must be Forest: he can smell an actual vampire in here, now, and Hutch is halfway to wolf form already before he thinks now is his chance, and probably the only one he’ll get. Men shout and their bodies draw away; the blindfold comes away as he plants four feet on solid ground.

Forest stands there with two thralls, tough thugs who cower back—one looks ready to bolt while the other is more cautious—but Forest is just standing there, grinning. Hutch snarls one warning and then leans back on his haunches to pounce.

And sits back on his ass, his head spinning while all his limbs are floating. He feels warm, and oddly pleasant, and suddenly doesn’t remember what he had been about to do, so he flops over onto his side. The floor is cool on his fur.

“See that? He took to it like a baby,” one of the thralls says, a shorter man with a neat haircut and a serious face. “Nice and quiet now.”

“He’ll cry like a baby when we take it away,” Forest answers, reaching down to affix a muzzle over Hutch’s mouth, just in case. “That’s when he’ll tell us where she is. Let me know when he changes back.”

…

The next interminable period of time is a blur for Hutch. He’s nauseous and weak and dizzy when they dose him, and even worse when they start waiting longer between each dose.

In the rare lucid, human moments, Hutch knows that his body is building up a tolerance for the opiates, so they’re giving him more, each time. He knows that they’re dosing him with wolfsbane, too, which is why, even when he begs for more, it makes him sick. It also makes him flick between forms, or what feels like flicking through them to him, burning up his energy in trying to heal himself and expel the poison. It doesn’t work, just makes him weaker, but he’s not sure he can really control it.

He does bite one of them, at one point—and wonders distantly if a vampire can _also_ become a lycanthrope—and he’s pretty sure the next needle is tipped with silver for how it burns and how little he can do about it.

Hutch wonders, too, in these lucid moments, _absurdly_ , if Starsky will come, or even would come.

Mostly, thankfully, he’s not lucid. Hours or days must pass, long enough for hits to wear off, and _hurt_ , and for him to need more. He doesn’t remember them feeding him, and certainly doesn’t remember any of it staying down. He might have, in wolf form, drunk from a fetid puddle in the floor at one point, high as a kite and thirsty as hell.

But now he’s in his human shape, again, he’s not certain, but he thinks he has fingers and lips because they ache and he’s thirsty and raw.

“Help,” he manages, when he sees shoes step into his line of vision. “Please, help me, I need some help.”

“You know how to get help, puppy,” a voice tells him, from somewhere above the shoes. A man crouches by him, unafraid, swimming in his vision. “Tell us where you’ve hidden Jeanie, we’ll help her _and_ you.”

The other hands are back, too, restraining Hutch, holding him down and still so he doesn’t get the wise idea to to try and bite someone else, not that he has the strength to, or the teeth to.

“What’s wrong with Jeanie? Is she okay?” Hutch asks. Maybe they’ll help. Though he doesn’t think so. His head hurts, and his lungs don’t seem to want to take in air. Is he in a coffin? A vampire nest? Do they nest in coffins?

Oh, that’s right. The vampires want Jeanie. And she’s a tough girl, but she’s hiding out for a reason, and Hutch isn’t going to break now. “No, no...you’re barking up the wrong tree, mook.”

He’s pretty sure the guy’s name is Monk, but it’s funny because he’s a thrall to this vampire. Starsky would appreciate the joke.

_Starsky…_

“Give him a few more hours of just the wolfsbane,” Forest advises, from somewhere out of sight. “He’ll talk then.”

Of course he does eventually, out of confusion and desperation, half out of his mind with drugs and pain. Then, their use for him is over. Monk gives him one last shot of heroine to keep him quiet, then loads him up, dirty and drooling, into the back of his towncar, with the intent of disposing of him while Forest goes to pick Jeanie up. There’s apparently no question whether the place Hutch gave them was right or not.

“We’ll go drop him in the bay,” one of Monk’s subordinates ventures. “Those silver cuffs’ll hold him till he hits the bottom.”

…

Starsky doesn’t find him until it’s evident something has gone very wrong. Hutch’s house—which Starsky hasn’t set foot in in months—looks just the same, except for a couple of things are very wrong. First of all, Hutch’s jacket and gun are still hung up, but he’s not in. That’s when Starsky knows this has gone beyond just shacking up with his girlfriend.

Starsky sees the bag packed for the week-long trip with his girlfriend with clean clothes and a new toothbrush in it. He never actually left. So where the hell was he?

Of course, they’re both big strong werewolves, and it’s been made abundantly clear Starsky isn’t, so he hesitates in Hutch’s house, surrounded by familiar plants, and wonders if he should really get involved in this or if he should just tell Dobey and let the pack sort it out. But no matter what, Hutch is his partner. Eventually, they’ll be like brothers again, if nothing more, so he hits the street and gets the APB out  to find Hutch. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Zebra-three, Zebra-three, come in,” comes the familiar call, when Starsky is whiteknuckling the steering wheel in growing concern. “Request for backup at 4th and Walnut for possible sighting of Officer Hutchinson, heading east. See Officer Anderson.”

Starsky all but claws the radio receiver off the mount on the dash and confirms that he’s on the way, slapping the light onto his roof and turning on the siren as he makes a wide u-turn across four lanes of traffic to get there faster, coming onto location to find Anderson crouching over Hutch’s form in an alleyway that Starsky pulls halfway up.

“Hutch!” he calls, forgetting for the moment to be mad at him. His partner’s form looks very small there, crumpled up on the ground. He’s also half-naked, and his wrists are in cuffs that more look like old-timey manacles than anything police-issue. His eyes are wild and unfocused, and his chest is heaving like he can’t get enough air.

“He was running, I don’t know what from,” Anderson says to Starsky, taking his eyes off Hutch to look around, and it’s just enough of an edge that Hutch can knock him back and get up to run again.

Hutch remembers kicking one of his captors in the face and jumping from a moving car, running across traffic, he _might_ have wolfed out in broad daylight, too, or else he started running on all fours just like this.

And now he’s free, he’s not letting them catch him again, he’s got to get away, away, and then he _is_ a wolf, scrabbling at an alley fence he should be able to clear but can’t. Has he been shot?

“He’s _still_ running,” Starsky growls, but he catches up to Hutch, heedless of the danger a full grown wolf poses him, and throws himself bodily at Hutch, who is still tangled more or less in his clothes. Starsky wrestles him down, as gently as he can while still directing the snapping jaws away from anything he might regret biting, like most of Starsky, and pins Hutch with his full weight. On a normal day, he’d never be able to do it; today Hutch feels weak as a kitten.

“Hutch,” Starsky says into his ear. “ _Ken_. I got you, go easy, huh?”

They roll in a desperate, awkward ball, but Hutch is hampered by his torn pants and the cuffs that are still on one paw at least, and he bares his teeth and snarls, swiping and biting—or, at least he tries to, but he finds himself effectively pinned, and he wants to change back into a human to try to wriggle free but he isn’t sure he can.

What snaps him out of fight-or-flight isn’t the sight of Starsky, of course, since he can barely tell if it’s day or night, nor the sound of his voice, even, though he knows someone is shouting at him: it’s the _smell_ of him that finally gets through to Hutch that this is safety, this is Starsky.

 _Starsky_ , he wants to say, but his mouth is too full of teeth, so he just goes limp, trying to gulp in air. _Sorry, I’m sorry_.

“It’s alright,” Starsky reassures him, concerned by the condition of his friend. He keeps holding Hutch down anyway, even though he can feel that Hutch is _trembling_ , and he’s much, much weaker than normal. He shifts, looking back at Anderson and beckoning him over with a tilt of his head, as the other werewolf starts to crouch down, he recoils from the cuffs.

“Those are silver!”

“That’s what I thought.” Starsky gently, _gently_ rubs his hand over the crown of Hutch’s head. “Partner, I’m gonna get those cuffs off you, and then we’re gonna go someplace safe you can … work this off, or whatever it’s going to take.”

“Looks bad,” Anderson says, as Starsky carefully works the cuffs looser around Hutch’s paws though he can’t get them off, looking at how raw and tender the skin looks beneath, and then taking note of another injury in his flank.

“Yeah,” Starsky agrees, trying his best to sound stable and in command. “Someone’s shot him, too. Help me get him in the car.”

“Man, he’s dangerous!”

Starsky wheels on Anderson and grabs him by the collar, giving him a shake. “Not as dangerous as I’m going to be if you don’t help me get him in the car and to my friend’s place.”

Anderson is glad to help, then, as long as Starsky takes the business end, and they get him into the front bench of Starsky’s car. Hutch doesn’t protest or struggle, though he has picked up a reedy whine that’s almost too high to register.

Anderson bends down to take a look at the leg wound, but wrinkles his nose at the smell of him. “Smells like—like a _lot_ of wolfsbane. Maybe opiates, too, I—and with the handcuffs, what the hell is that chick Jeanie _into_ , man?”

“Not her, her ex,” Starsky bets, remembering enough of the sob story Hutch had related to Starsky in the throes of his starstruck ecstasy of love, while Starsky was stuck with him on a stakeout. “He’s bad news. If anyone’s done this to Hutch, it’s him.”

He keeps his arms around Hutch’s neck, holding onto him until they’ve got him into Huggy’s place, upstairs into his warded crashpad up there, where no one could find them that they didn’t want to, and Starsky shuffles Hutch onto the bed, noting that the bullet wound still isn’t healed. Probably something was taxing all his efforts.

Anderson has gone to report to Dobey, and to get an APB out on Jeanie, too, since the pack hasn’t seen or heard from her, either.

“Hey, Hug,” Starsky says, grabbing him as he starts to go downstairs for hot coffee and a warm towel. “He needs a doctor.”

“He needs a _muzzle_ , Starsky, my man,” Huggy says, handing Starsky a pair of bolt-cutters for the cuff. “But yeah, I know a guy. Get him into the tub in there, see if you can get him to drink anything. And don’t get _bit._ ”

“Just get the doctor,” Starsky says, not particularly caring if he _does_ get bit. A small, crazy part of him thinks that would solve this whole issue, or it would have a couple of months ago.

Hutch is still panting, heart still racing, tongue lolling out of his mouth like a crazy dog. Now that Starsky can get a closer look, there’s wounds and bruises all over him, blood matting his fur, and yeah, he smells genuinely terrible. He’s gaunt like he hasn’t eaten all week, and twitching faintly—he is trying to change, but can’t quite get a handle on what being human feels like enough to do it.

Starsky clips the cuffs off Hutch at last, and it’s almost like _he_ feels better, before he picks Hutch up wholesale and puts him in the tub, sitting in there with him as he uses the showerhead to rinse some of the worst of the filth away, touching Hutch very gently, humming to him like that might reassure him. “Go easy now, go easy. Don’t tax yourself, just let me take care of you.”

Hutch makes a jerky movement that might be a nod, and whines softly to confirm he heard. The water feels good, and Starsky feels even better, and _God, he’s missed this, what has he done, giving this up_? His eyes close for moments or minutes, and when he thinks he has the strength to lift his head, Hutch does what every sensible canine does in the shower, which is opens his mouth to try to bite the stream.

Perhaps just as sensibly, Starsky senses what Hutch is after and immediately cups his hand into the water to let Hutch lap it up, mouthful after mouthful, as much as Hutch wants, and it’s a lot. When he’s sure Hutch is clean, and he can see all the places that really need attention, Starsky gently wraps Hutch up in a towel, and starts to lift right before the wolf empties his stomach full of water back into the tub, and Starsky makes a worried grunt and holds him steady, reassuring him.

“Alright, alright, I know,” he says, gently toweling Hutch’s ears. “I know. Is that better?”

The only reply is a forlorn howl, weaker even than Rosie’s attempts, though it echoes in the tub. Though his legs are visibly quaking, Hutch resists being moved. He wants to die here, right here, in this nice cool tub where everything will just run down the drain. Even his own blood running down his leg burns, and Hutch isn't sure how to communicate _Just turn the shower on and leave me here (only don't leave me here, don't go again, I'm sorry)_ while in this form.

The doctor arrives with Huggy, who has a lot of coffee and a pile of blankets.

“Oh, Hutchinson, what a mess,” she says, and Starsky might think her pretty if she arrived under other circumstances.

“Dr. Kaufman,” she says, by way of introduction, to Starsky. “What are we looking at, here?”

“Someone took him,” Starsky said. “I cut some silver cuffs off him, but the rest is… well.”

“It’s _not_ well, or you wouldn’t have called the doctor,” she says, trying to offer Starsky a reassuring smile and make a joke.  It doesn’t do much to reassure him. “Okay, lift him out of the tub please. He hasn’t bitten anyone, right?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Starsky says, muttering an apology to Hutch as he hoists him out of the tub. “He just threw up all the water he drank, though. And he’s been shot.”

Starsky lays Hutch out on the cramped bathroom floor, gently rubbing his neck, which seems to be the only part of him that isn’t bruised, to reassure him as Dr. Kaufman looks him over, measuring his pupillary response, looking at the marks on his front legs from the cuffs, and then the bullet hole.

Hutch’s whining is his only protest, but he recognizes Dr. Kaufman and knows she's here to help. His tongue flicks out to lick Starsky’s arm. He’s so thirsty…

“Something’s really overwhelming his healing factor,” she observes. “I’m going to take this bullet out. I think it’s just a normal one, but if we can give his body a hand he’ll feel better faster. Mind his head, alright?”

Hutch seems to barely register when she plunges the forceps into the wound, he’s so miserable already, just keeps making the range of sad animal noises, and she comes out with a normal looking slug and then cuts a little patch of fur with some clippers before sewing the wound closed. The welts on his front legs she disinfects.

“I think he’s been dosed with a great deal of wolfsbane, and some other kind of drugs to make it really stick. Heroin, judging by his symptoms, but you guys are the cops,” she says, when she’s all done and washing her hands. “I think he’ll be alright now, but it’s going to be a slow, awful recovery until all that stuff’s worked out of his system. Keep him as hydrated as you can, and if you can start him on foods, beef broth would be a good start. At least, as a werewolf, he’s not likely to relapse into addiction once he’s shaken the withdrawal.”

Hutch, who had been laying out on his side, lifts his head and gets up onto his elbows to watch her go. He feels very shaky and his heart rate won't slow down.

Dr. Kaufman regards him sympathetically. “Wolfsbane makes it hard for them to control their shape, and to control themselves in it, so be careful. It's also toxic to humans, so as he sweats it out of his system, keep your hands clean. If you start getting dizzy or short of breath, get to the hospital yourself.”

 _How fitting_ , Hutch thinks forlornly, _I poison Starsky just by touching him._ He wants to get back in the bathtub.

“It’s alright, and I’ll keep my hands clean,” Starsky promises. He _doesn’t_ promise to let Hutch get more than five feet away from him. He gives Hutch a little more water, controlling how much he drinks this time, stopping before it reaches more than his body can handle right now.

“If you have any other questions,” she smiles at Starsky brilliantly, though he’s almost too worried to notice it. “Here’s my number, okay?”

“Hey, thanks,” Starsky says, and while he’d be grateful in other opportunities for other reasons, today he’s just glad to know he’s not alone if Hutch starts to look any worse. Not that this isn’t bad enough.

Huggy is waiting outside, and when she leaves, he crowds into the bathroom with them.

“Well, Hutcheroo, you wanted our attention, now you got it,” he teases.

Hutch gives a close approximation of a groan and rolls his eyes, though he licks Starsky's fingers and Huggy’s in gratitude. The floor is cool, and he's safe, so, miserable as he is, he closes his eyes.

“Oh, no you don't,” Huggy says. “Come on, bed or bath? Floor is not an option, my furry friend.”

“Alright, come on,” Starsky says, gently hoisting Hutch, cautious not to jostle him around or press on his stomach. “The bed will feel better. Have a little coffee, and then Huggy will bring you some beef broth in a bit.”

Starsky carries him the few steps to the bed and settles him as comfortably as possible on the mattress and pillows, putting a blanket over him when he starts to shiver from being damp, and soothing him gently. He leaves Hutch in Huggy’s care for just a few seconds to wash his hands, and change out of his soaked clothes into a fresh pair of jeans, before he settles on the bed with Hutch, who is lapping up a saucer of coffee.

“What a mess, huh partner? You know where those guys are holed up? Sure like to get a little payback for all this,” Starsky says, mostly just to make noise.

Hutch gives a pathetic groan, leaning back to lick Starsky’s cheek, and then he stays there, laying his big shaggy head in the crook of Starsky’s arm. He smells good, safe, like pack and mate. He feels like crying with relief, but wolves can't cry and he's too tired to change forms.

Anyway, a wild part of him thinks, Starsky is mad at his human self, not at the wolf, so this is better, anyway.

When Hutch’s eyes close he descends into feverish dreams that make his legs kick—he's always running in his dreams, knowing his lungs are about to give out and his heart is going to burst, but he can't stop, and he doesn't know what he's running from or to.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey. You might wanna ease off,” Huggy suggests to Starsky, when he's back with coffee and broth for Hutch, and a burger for Starsky. “If he wakes up and nips you, hero, we got problems.”

“He won’t bite me,” Starsky says, looking at the hamburger like it’s a space alien. For once in his life, he’s not hungry. “And I don’t care if he does.”

“You might not, but I do,” Huggy sets the tray down and puts the burger directly in Starsky’s hand, guiding him to sit in the chair instead. “That’s the last thing I need, is two out of their mind werewolves in my saferoom.”

Starsky keeps his own council on how many problems it might solve, and takes three bites of the hamburger gamely before he sets it aside again, resolved to watch Hutch sleep in case he needs anything. “You know, I was mad at him. Then this comes up, and I forgot right away.”

Huggy nods, and takes a seat. He lays a hand on Hutch's belly, which is going in and out with big gasps like there isn't enough air in all the room, and he smells like wet dog and copper, like he's sweating blood or silver out. Hutch doesn't stir. Huggy wonders if anything in his hoard could help him, but he doesn't think so. “I wanted to ask about that. What'd he do?”

Starsky remembers the violent panic that Hutch had displayed for his actions, the shame and regret. He leans his head back against the chair and rubs his eyes. No need for gory details. “He decided he’d be better off seeing a werewolf.”

“Decided? Or tried to tell himself, amigo?” Huggy asks wryly, and pats Hutch. “Werewolves are very intelligent creatures. It's why many of them are my friends. It's the human sides of ‘em that can be kinda stupid.”

“Well, he can tell himself whatever he wants if he won’t let me have any input,” Starsky says, with a petulant shrug. “Anyway, he was right. I never saw him so happy as with Jeanie, except for all this. Isn’t that better, in the end?”

Huggy raises an eyebrow, but shrugs and says nothing, with an air of one who disagrees completely but is glad to let you have your own dumbass opinions.

“Hutch could fall in love with anyone and anything. He's got a lotta love to give, dig? The _wolf_ has only ever been interested in one person. And he looks pretty happy right now, to me.”

He actually looks awful, of course, but Huggy can see deeper.

Huggy stands up, leaving the food, planning to check on them in a few hours. “I mean it, though, my man, don't get bit. It's not you I'm worried about, but _him_.”

Starsky’s not so sure what Huggy means by that, but he stays in the chair until Hutch is awake and shows no signs of wanting to bite him, before he offers Hutch some soup. It’s going to be a long miserable time, so Starsky straps in for it, holding onto Hutch until he changes back.

When Hutch sleeps, Starsky sleeps too, exhausted in his chair and sick at heart. Where the hell was Jeanie, after all this? Probably also kidnapped, though Starsky hopes she’s being treated more gently.

“Hutch,” he tries, when his partner seems a little lucid again, blinking up at him with eyes that look, at least briefly, focused. Starsky has withdrawn again a little, maybe so Hutch doesn’t have to tell him to back off now that he has the voice to do it. “Hutch? I need to know where Jeanie was, or the number, so we can check on her.”

Hutch sits up, blinks blearily at Starsky, who has suddenly put distance back between them. It makes him angry, almost, but he's too tired to be more than hurt, and he's sure he deserves it.

“She's at a house on Seaview, north of here. Number 173. I don't know if she…” Hutch swallows thick saliva that tastes like vomit. Apparently the soup had disagreed with him at some point. He tries to remember why the vamps were going to kill him—had he given up her location, or had they found her anyway? He rubs his face. “Number is 555-4605.”

Hutch's eyes track Starsky across the room to the phone, his ears hear him speak with Dobey, but he can't focus on either. He glances down at his hands and realizes they're shaking. He's at once very thirsty and afraid of anything passing his lips. But he needs...something. Even his body isn't stupid enough to want another hit of heroin, it's so wrapped up with the smell and feel of wolfsbane, but it's some kind of need. Maybe he needs to take a piss. Or...just fall asleep in the bath with the water running over him. Something with water.

With Starsky still on the phone, Hutch kicks the blankets off. He's wrapped in a sheet, but it's soaked in sweat and rubbing him raw. Everything is. He's just raw, and lurches to his feet to make his way to the bathroom.

God, walking is easier with four legs, he decides. Stitches pull on his thigh, making his leg buckle as he tries to shift away from the pain. Starsky’s voice suddenly stops, and he’s _there_ , getting hold of Hutch when he stumbles, to help him into the bathroom, and then back into the shower again, turning the water on just warm enough to be comforting while still cooling his feverish skin. He drinks tilting his head back like he hasn’t transformed back to human at all.

“Thanks,” Hutch says, finally, his voice raspy.

“Dobey’s sending someone to check it out,” Starsky tells Hutch, sitting just outside the tub basin as Hutch showers off more of the wolfsbane sweating out of him. “Don’t worry, we’ll find Jeanie and get her back. I’d ask how you feel, but I’m sure I know the answer already, huh?”

“I feel…” Hutch says, and shuts the water off and eases himself down to just sit in the bath.

When he gets up the courage to look Starsky in the eye, they just stare at each other for several minutes. Hutch starts to say something a few times before he lets it out like a sigh: “I'm sorry.”

It feels like weights are pulling all his limbs down, but he lifts his hand and lays it, palm-up, on the side of the tub, reaching out to Starsky.

Starsky, without hesitating, takes it. He curls their hands together, giving Hutch’s fingers a squeeze. “I’m sorry, too.”

He’s content to sit like that for a while, until Hutch feels stronger.

“I—I wanna know if—when Jeanie’s okay,” Hutch ventures, when Starsky is finally helping him out of the bath and wrapping him in clean towels. He lets Starsky help, because the injury to his pride from this is better than him falling on his face still soaking wet. “But I don't think she'll want to see me.”

“Of course she wants to see you,” Starsky tells him, reassuring as best he can. He gently towels Hutch’s hair dry. He tries to make light of it, with half a smile “You’re pretty good to look at.”

Hutch huffs, getting a hand on Starsky’s shoulder to squeeze the side of his neck weakly as Starsky helps him limp back to bed. “I...didn't think _you'd_ want to see me.”

“Hutch, no matter what, you’re my partner. My _friend_ ,” Starsky says. “What was I supposed to do, leave you on the street and forget about it? I wouldn’t do that to a stranger.”

Though some days it feels like Hutch _is_ a stranger, lately. Starsky lets that bitter feeling go, and rests his hands on Hutch’s shoulders. “So, we’ll get it all sorted out, right? But you need to stay in, and lay down and get your strength back. Until the wolfsbane stops messing with you, anyway.”

“Okay,” Hutch says, wilting a little in Starsky's hold, because he knows Starsky will catch him, and he holds onto him. “We can talk when I wake up, right? I...I never gave you much of a chance to…”

Hutch takes a steadying breath and has to swallow so he won't crumple. He’s too tired for a meltdown right now. He sits on the bed, slouching, hunching over almost double. “I'm sorry, Starsk.”

“Well, that makes us both a sorry mess.” Starsky hangs onto Hutch, both arms around him for real and in earnest now, holding him tight and squeezing gently. Reassuring both of them. Hutch nods, strengthened somehow by this. He can fix this. He'll get Starsky back. He'll make it work.

Starsky reaches up onto the counter and pulls down a clean set of clothes that Huggy had gotten from Hutch’s place, one of three they’ve been rotating through and washing in between as the night went on. “Here, we should get you back to bed. It’s better than the floor, huh?”

“I _guess_ ,” Hutch laughs wetly. He pulls on the underwear, but this exhausts him, so he slides to one side, more or less onto a pillow, his feet still hanging off the edge. His leg aches so much he almost wants it cut off, and wonders how people who don’t heal as quickly as him can live like this. “I'm gonna just—quit here. Before I know I'm not gonna change again.”

Hutch's eyes are closed when he pats the bed behind him. “If you're not worried I'll puke on you, there's room for both of us.”

Starsky eases up behind Hutch, and lifts Hutch’s legs onto the bed before getting comfortable. “Huggy thinks there’s danger you’ll bite me. I figure it’d solve some problems.”

Hutch huffs, almost a crazed sound, he's so tired, but “Yeah,” he says. “Not really, but…”

Starsky puts his arms around Hutch’s middle, and pulls him close. Closing his eyes, Starsky can almost pretend it’s normal, except for the keyed up tremor going through Hutch’s body and how weak he still feels.

Hutch's stomach aches, and he pulls Starsky's arm around to hold him tighter, and eventually, in his sleep, turns over to press against him, and there he sleeps unmoving and almost easily, for a few hours at least.


	5. Chapter 5

When Hutch wakes up a few hours later, he’s sweaty and irritable, thirsty and hungry and  _ wolf _ . He finds Starsky sleeping beside him, and there is a base, wild part of him that is so hungry he  _ considers _ it for half a moment, but he shakes his head like shaking off so much water, and stumbles out of bed to wear himself out pacing, no matter how much his leg still hurts.

Starsky wakes up slowly, and then faster when he sees Hutch circling the room in wolf form, looking dangerous, manic. Hair stands up on his arms and the back of his neck as Starsky calls down to Huggy for some more food, then offers the warmest bone broth he can find to Hutch, carefully setting it on the floor. “Hey, take it slow, try to keep it down. You want some water, too?”

Hutch whuffs some kind of affirmative, dark and bestial. A wild animal that can be appeased, maybe overpowered, but not tamed. He gulps the broth and then the water and goes back to pacing, favoring one leg like a caged, rabid wolf.

Huggy’s eyes flashing are the only thing that startles Hutch from his perimeter walk, and he yields to the stronger creature, but then he just paces everywhere that Huggy isn't. “Starsk, my man, I still think you oughta come with me. He needs to get this out of his system and it's probably best he do it alone, you get me?”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” Starsky says, stubbornly. “Hutch won’t hurt me.”

He sits down on the bed, crossing his arms as if to prove his point. Huggy doesn’t look impressed, but he also doesn’t look like he wants to fight Hutch to drag Starsky out of here. 

Now Hutch is growling in Huggy’s direction, like he  _ is _ stupid enough to tangle with a dragon over his pretty boyfriend (friend?). Hutch stumbles over to Starsky and lays down on top of his feet.

“See?” Starsky says, leaning back to give Hutch his space. “Besides, if I do go, he’d be alone. I don’t think he needs that right now.”

The phone rings, but Hutch doesn't stir, like he is suddenly out cold or else deems the phone that unimportant. Huggy and Starsky look at each other for a moment, but Starsky gestures to his feet like,  _ You want to upset the sick werewolf? _ to which Huggy could probably have given a few replies of his own, but doesn't. Instead, he answers the phone. 

“How are my boys?” Dobey asks, knowing immediately to whom he is speaking. He adds, because it's good practice to be polite to dragons, and because he does care, “And how are you?”

“Stubborn as ever,” Huggy reveals, honestly. “But I think Hutch is going to pull through. That was some mean stuff they put over on him. As for me, I’m rapidly losing  _ my  _ patience with mere mortals, if you take my meaning.”

“Tell me about it,” Dobey grumbles. “Can I talk to Starsky?”

“What’s going on, Hug?” Starsky calls, “Is there any news about Jeanie?

Huggy two-steps over to hand Starsky the phone, holding the receiver. 

“I got a statement from Jeanie,” Dobey reports. “Forest's thugs came after her, but she got the drop on ‘em. A few of them left in body bags. Ah, Starsk, I wanted to tell you, she's out for revenge, and she might be in a jealous mood. Don't you get in the way of that, understand me?”

Starsky is glad to hear that Jeanie’s free, but not so sure what the rest means. He sighs. “I got it, but I’m starting to feel an awful lot like I’m in the way no matter what I do, Cap.”

“How’s Hutch?”

“Restless when he’s awake,” Starsky says, venturing a hand down to pet Hutch gently on the back of his neck. “The rest of the time, he seems to be doing better, bit by bit. I think he’s over the hump.”

He doesn’t tell the Captain that Hutch is currently scaring him a little bit. 

“Good. We’re gonna go after Forest and it could get ugly. I need you to stay there with him, son.” Dobey sounds like he's about to stop there, before saying more: “You're not in the way, Starsky, you're right where you need to be.” 

Then he hangs up. 

Huggy takes the phone back and puts it on the receiver, crouching to sit against the bed and scratch the side of Hutch's fuzzy neck. “So...they bench you?”

“In nicer words,” Starsky says. “I feel like I’m running with the big guys but I can’t keep up.” 

“I  _ am _ the big guys and sometimes I can’t keep up,” Huggy reveals. 

“Yeah, but that puts you in a better position to argue about it,” Starsky says, leaning his head against the headboard. “When this is all over, what happens then? Things go back to the way they were?”

“I don't see how they can, Starsky,” Huggy says. “Way I see it, you got a tall order to fill no matter what. I know you can and I think you should, but it's up to you if you  _ wanna _ , dig? It's always gonna be a challenge. A...quest. Just like the fairy tales.”

Huggy releases a big sigh and sits next to Starsky. “Folks like me and Hutch, we got rules we operate under, that we have to abide by. You humans are the only ones who get to break those rules. That’s the beauty of you.  _ We  _ can't, not on our own.”

“I don’t even know half the rules to know when I’m breakin’ ‘em,” Starsky laments, but he subsides, and shifts, leaning back against the headboard, while Hutch still lays on one of his feet. “It’s like being out of the loop all the time, or I can’t keep up. It’s starting to feel like being human just isn’t enough.”

“It's the  _ only _ thing that's enough, my man,” Huggy says. He pats Starsky’s knee and gets up and is about to leave before he stops at the door. “Well, that and love.”


	6. Chapter 6

When Hutch wakes again, he's human, more clear-headed, and lying in Starsky's arms. He blinks at the world until his vision clears, and he can focus on Starsky’s hairy arms around him, the yellow light of dusk outside, and the trashed state of the room. But he feels better, if shaky, and hungry—normal-hungry—just being hungry is itself a step up. 

Hutch squeezes Starsky’s arm and sits up, mostly so he can turn around.

There's too much to say, of course, so he just stares at Starsky with his mouth open, holding his arm around his waist. Even ‘thank you’ wouldn't be enough. But it's a place to start.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Starsky says, sounding like he’s just woken up himself. He wants to ask ‘what now?’ but doesn’t. He might not like the answer, or he might, but right now he is mostly just glad to see Hutch looking like himself again. “You wanna eat something, partner? Have some coffee? I think the worst is past, you started healing bruises again a few hours ago, so when I called Doctor Kaufman she said that probably meant you’d worked the wolfsbane out. And the heroin.”

With this list of injuries, Starsky has to reach out and touch Hutch’s face, gently, like making sure he’s still whole. 

Hutch feels like all of them are cured, all his hurts and his heartache, just by this touch, and he leans into it. “Starsky, I—”

But they said they'd talk later, and he closes his eyes. Was now later enough? “Can we eat while you...tell me what I missed?”

“Yeah,” Starsky pulls his hands away and rubs his eyes, bleary, and then rouses himself slowly. “Huggy’s got a whole pot of hearty stew down there, I think just for you. You can go back to salads when you wouldn’t have to graze a whole field, huh?”

“Fine,” Hutch says, exaggerating an annoyed sigh mostly because he knew it was what Starsky wanted to hear from him.

With a tired but winning smile, Starsky briefly departs the saferoom and comes back with two big bowls of very hearty stew, offering one to Hutch with a big glass of water and some coffee. “So, I guess those guys took you to get to Jeanie, right?”

Hutch has taken himself to the bathroom at least, washed his face, and put on clean clothes. He still feels a little raw, but maybe he just will for a while. He's glad to see Starsky and even gladder to see the stew, and gulps it down in big mouthfuls. It shows no signs of being too much for his stomach this time.

“Yeah, he—they kept asking where she was. I don't—I honestly can't even tell you if I gave her up or not. I guess I must have.” Hutch pauses, eats another bite of stew, and swallows. “Is she okay? Do we know?”

He doesn't want to see her, he just wants to know. He doesn't know how to tell Starsky he was wrong about her, and wrong about  _ them _ , even though he does care if she's  _ okay _ .

“She’s okay,” Starsky says. “I guess she got herself out of hot water just fine. To be fair, I wouldn’t want to mess with an angry werewolf dame, either. Last I knew they were cleaning pieces of Forest’s goons out of the carpet.”

“Yeah, maybe if I hadn't played the hero they might not have strung me along like that,” Hutch says over his coffee. “Course, then they might've just killed me outright.”

Starsky sits down and eats more slowly, considering his food. “As far as the rest, I’ve been with you the whole time. Dobey told me to keep an eye on you, Huggy told me I should try not to get bitten. It’s a mess.”

“And I didn't, right?” Hutch demands, looking up from the last of his stew and reaching for Starsky. “I didn't hurt you?”

“‘Course you didn’t,” Starsky says immediately, taking his hand. “You didn’t touch me. I knew you weren’t gonna bite me.”

Hutch nods, setting his food aside before taking both of his hands this time. 

“I could only hurt you unintentionally. Which I could have, just...” he says, staring down at their hands. “I'm sorry about—everything, Starsk. That I thought for one second I could...love anyone as much as I love you.”

“Hutch,” Starsky starts, tries to field something in edgewise, but Hutch seems like he has to get this all out, continuing,

“We have a lot to work out, more now because of me, but I wasn't letting you have a say before, and I'm sorry. I'll do better, if you—if you ever want to give me another chance. And you could think about it. Don't have to say now. But I'm ending it with Jeanie, if she hasn't already ended it with me.”

“Hutch,” Starsky repeats. “You don’t have to end it with Jeanie. I was…I don’t know what I was, but we could have worked this out back then if I’d listened to you when you said you maybe need more than just I can give you. I guess it just took me this long to realize that didn’t mean you didn’t want what we had together.”

Hutch shakes his head, refusing to believe Starsky has any part of the fault in this. “No, it's not your fault if that's what I made you think. It wasn't fair, what I asked of you. You give me everything I need, and I was too stupid and hungup to realize that.”

“Well then we’re both idiots,” Starsky says, as if that solves the whole problem. “At least we figured it out eventually.”

He squeezes Hutch’s fingers, and then gets up to just hug him, to hang onto him full-body and close. He’s missed this, just being close to him. Hopefully, this isn’t all just a spur of the moment decision or some aftereffect of the wolfsbane, but real. He wants Hutch back.

Hutch buries his face against Starsky’s neck and breathes him in, that scent that's more home than anything he's ever smelled. He hangs onto him tightly and doesn't let go until Huggy comes in.

“Now that's what I like to see,” he laughs, closing the door and bringing in more water and a tray full of food that Hutch eyes hungrily. “Then once Dobey gives the all-clear, I can kick you out of my place and send you two home to sort this out.”

Hutch sits up. “All-clear? What's not clear yet? They're not going after Forest, are they?”

“Hey man, I’m just the messenger,” Huggy says. “But I imagine that Forest cat’s got his time numbered in hours, you dig? If I was him, I’d be out of town two days ago. But you know vampires, man.”

“Yeah,” Hutch says, and looks around, getting up on unsteady feet. He hisses: his leg still hurts to walk on. “Do you have any shoes I can wear?”

Both Huggy and Starsky look at him like he’s crazy. Then they trade looks with each other, as if mentally playing rock-paper-scissors for who got to tell Hutch ‘no’. 

“Hutch, I don’t think you should go out just yet,” Starsky ventures. “I mean you’re barely lucid. Just a couple hours ago you were running in your sleep. Aren’t you tired?”

“Cap will need us there. I can identify Forest, even if he changes shape. He also might do something stupid if he sees me again.”

“Yeah, also  _ you _ might do something stupid if you see him again,” Huggy says, but Hutch just looks at him darkly. 

“Never mind, I can be in wolf shape in half an hour,” Hutch says, on the edge of a threat. 

“Hutch,” Starsky says, flatly. “You could be on the floor in half an hour too, you don’t know.”

He can see, however, that Hutch isn’t going to back down, so Starsky goes to get him his shoes. “You have to take a shower first, alright? You’ve been sweating out God knows what and it’s gonna light us up like a beacon to anyone with sharper than average senses.”

Hutch takes the shoes and relaxes his posture, nodding gratefully at Starsky. “Thanks.”

When he's in the shower, Huggy doesn't care if his sharper than average hearing can pick up him telling Starsky, “I don't like this. Maybe I oughta go with you, too.”

“I think he’s trying to take his own control back a little, Hug,” Starsky says. “Don’t worry, he’s got Dobey and the whole pack behind him on this, if I know Dobey at all. And I’ll be there, right?”

“I know, I know it,” Huggy says, patting Starsky’s shoulder firmly. “It's not usually good practice to bring a dragon to a vampire fight, anyway.”

Now Huggy lowers his voice and hands Starsky an empty magazine for his Smith & Wesson, quietly, like he's handing off street drugs. “Here. Father Jacobs blessed this clip for me, and it’s got some...other properties. Any bullets you put in it will hurt a vampire—or a werewolf, or  _ me _ , so aim careful. Don't let anyone know you have it.” 

Starsky looks at it, at the strange engravings on it, considering what it means. Then he tucks it into the slot behind his holster, nodding because he knows how serious it is. Hopefully he won’t ever have to use it, or not too often, though if he and Hutch really find Forest, he’ll be glad to have it. He grabs Huggy’s hand in his, giving a gentle and grateful squeeze. “Thanks, Hug. I’ll be careful.”

“One of you oughta be, at least at a time,” Huggy says, winking. 

Hutch emerges from the shower, tugging a shirt on though he's still damp. He moves slowly, but determinedly. “Huggy, can you call us a cab?”

“Okay, you’re a cab.”

“Why a cab?” Starsky says, with a gesture toward the door. “My car’s downstairs, dummy.”

Hutch stands up from where he's been tying his shoes and shrugs. “A guy can hope.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Okay, turn here,” Hutch says, sticking his face out the window to get a good sniff. He may not remember so well, but his nose does. Then, “Okay, cut the engine, we'll go in on foot.”

When the car stops, they hear a voice shouting into a bullhorn on the other side of the compound, and the sounds of men and guns, but this side—the side Hutch remembers, the seedy little back entrance where Hutch can still smell his own piss and sweat, where Forest did his business—is unguarded.

“If he comes out here, we'll be ready,” Hutch says, slipping out of his shoes and jeans. 

“Uh,” Starsky says, watching him. “Hutch are you sure you wanna change so quick? You’re still recovering—”

Hutch is already tossing his clothes to Starsky to hang onto, and Starsky wonders when this became his job, even as he folds them to make way for Hutch to change. Of course, once changed, Hutch can’t open the door, and Starsky rolls his eyes when the wolf whines at him expectantly.

“I should just leave you stuck in here, but that’d be animal cruelty,” he grumbles, getting out and holding the driver’s side door open for Hutch. “Watch your claws on the seats.”

Hutch is, actually, careful of the leather, stepping down gingerly. He licks Starsky's hand and vows to himself that when this is all over, he's going to listen to Starsky and do whatever he says, since he's been doing so much just carrying on regardless, and Starsky deserves to be treated a lot better. This whole mess wouldn't have happened if he just listened to Starsky more. 

Hutch moves them off into some foliage as he smells and hears someone coming, and growls lowly to warn his partner, nose pointed at the source.

Forest emerges alone, looking like his feathers have been ruffled but not quite panicked. Hutch crouches, ready to pounce. 

Starsky feels his whole body tense up, and while he’s pretty sure he knows where he’d put  _ his _ money in a fight, that doesn’t mean he’s totally positive that this is going to work out the way they want or expect, but he can’t do anything before Hutch starts to lunge forward.

The next minute is a blur of motion; Hutch has barely made it two steps out of cover when Jeanie appears; a pale grey wolf with her jaws stretched wide in a threatening snarl as she leaps first onto, then off of the hood of the Torino, lunging for Forest with murder in her eyes. 

Hutch is surprised to see her but glad for the help, though it quickly becomes apparent as they subdue Forest that Jeanie isn't interested as much in justice as revenge. 

_ No _ , he communicates to her through a short growl,  _ alive, not dead _ . 

She doesn't listen, so he dislodges her from going straight for the man's heart, and part of Hutch doesn't much care if she eats the vampire—but lucky for Forest it's not the wolf part of him who thinks that. 

Jeanie rakes her claws hard enough across Forest's face to drop him hard, enough to kill him, probably, were he not a vampire, and rounds on Hutch, betrayed. She gets one whiff of him, though, and turns yellow eyes on Starsky.  

Starsky holds his hands up, palms out, and shifts backwards cautiously.  _ That human thing again _ , he thinks to himself, and wonders if he can climb a tree faster than Jeanie can eat him. He can tell she’s angry, and probably he would be too after the events of the last few days, but none of that is  _ his _ fault. 

She snarls at Starsky, just enough to send him scrambling a little faster the other direction, and then turns her ire on Hutch when he interposes, but she doesn’t lose herself completely to jealousy and anger. Instead she just snaps at Hutch, once, and then turns tail when the people searching the premises sound like they’re coming closer.

“Hutch!” Starsky yells, halfway up a tree. “You better get out of there before any police see you.”

Hutch whuffs back at Starsky: **_You_** _better get down here and act like you caught him, then!_

But he hobbles off into the brush, not far enough away that he can't watch, make sure Starsky is okay, that Jeanie won't come back—nice of the pack to sort that out so he didn't have to, actually—and waits.

Dobey stalks up to Starsky, already shouting. 

“The hell are you doing here? I thought you were with Hutchinson! Secure that man!” he shouts to some of the uniforms, jabbing a finger at Forest, who is down for the count. He pulls Starsky aside so Starsky doesn't have to lie for everyone else's benefit. “You see what happened?”

“Uh, do you want the real answer to that or the right answer to that?” Starsky wonders, feeling a little like his head’s spinning. Dobey takes him aside and squeezes his shoulder to calm him. “Cap, I don’t know if I could really explain it if I tried. He came out the back, and Hutch was gonna go for him, but then this other wolf did it for him. And I am with Hutch, he’s just…otherwise disposed.”

A gesture at the bushes Hutch is hiding in makes Starsky’s point a little more vividly.

Dobey sighs, guessing what the rest of the story is. If Starsky looks this bad, he can only imagine what Hutch looks like. “Okay, look, we'll clean this up. You get out of here. Get Hutch out of here, and tell him I'm suspending him for a week without pay for going off half cocked like this, and if he does it again, I'm doing the same to you, understand? I'll call you tonight for a full statement for the council.”

“Did you just threaten to punish me to punish him?” Starsky realizes, wounded. Of course it was the best way to get to either of them, but the idea that Dobey’s already figured that out is a little bit of a blow. He smiles halfway, entreating. “Cap, You know us too well.”

He retrieves Hutch from the bushes, whereupon Hutch leaps, still wolf, and frantically licking his face, a combination of worried and grateful. Starsky barely manages to get him into the back of the Torino and hand over his clothes as they pull away. He’s glad to find no scratch marks on the hood of the Torino, otherwise they would be having a different conversation. “I don’t think your girlfriend likes me. Also you’re suspended for a week without pay.”

When Hutch changes back, he almost doesn't care about Dobey’s verdict, kissing Starsky’s cheek once he has lips again. “I don't care if she likes you. I like you. She's not my girlfriend anymore.”

It takes until they pull into Starsky’s garage and Hutch has at least pants and a shirt on before the high wears off, and he rounds on Starsky, putting his hand on the back of the seat. “Wait, without  _ pay _ ? We caught the guy!”

Okay, maybe he's still feeling a little self-righteous about the whole thing. Which is not what he's supposed to be feeling. 

“No we didn’t,” Starsky reminds.  _ “She _ caught the guy. And then she tried to eat me. We could have avoided the whole thing if we’d just stayed in and been sensible.”

There’s no point arguing logic with a hyped up Hutchinson, as Starsky well knows. “Dobey says if you hare off on anything else before that time’s up, he’s gonna suspend  _ me _ too, so I suggest you just make the most of your vacation time, huh?”

Hutch deflates, sliding back against the seat, and lets the fight go out of him. Arguing with Dobey won't do any good, especially if Starsky's on his side. He's quiet for a minute. 

“Okay.” He sounds a little sullen, but a little chastised. Maybe the adrenaline is wearing off and his body is cashing in several checks on his very depleted reserves. “I'm sorry. I didn't think she'd—you could have been hurt…”

“Well, that’s always gonna be the case,” Starsky says, with good cheer. He slings his shoulders under Hutch’s arm and helps him up the stairs into his apartment. “It’s a dangerous job in the first place, partner. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you getting up to speed again.”

He puts Hutch down gently on the couch, stooping to take his shoes, and then gets him to lay down, putting a pillow under his head. He sits on the arm at the foot of the couch, then, and looks at Hutch, mouth making a strange shape that’s hesitant and concerned. 

“I don’t want you to worry about me possibly getting hurt anymore,” Starsky says. “I mean, beyond a normal level of concern. I think the worry about what could  _ possibly _ happen has really messed us up, partner.”

Hutch takes a deep breath to protest, but lets it out in a sigh. He licks his lips a little self-consciously, and studies Starsky, that vulnerable little frown, his sad eyes. “Yeah. No, yeah. You're right. Th-that, and me not listening. To you, specifically. I'm sorry, Starsk.”

Hutch takes his hand, and they say a hundred words more in the look they give each other. It feels to Hutch like it used to be a thousand, but maybe it could be again.

Starsky squeezes his fingers, then gets up off the end of the couch to move closer, kicking off his shoes and shoving Hutch over until they both fit on the narrow space, with Starsky’s arms around Hutch, and his nose buried in the back of his neck, eyes closed and just hanging on. Hutch hugs him back, gripping him with a desperation that’s a relief, honestly. There’s a lot that needs to be said, a lot that  _ should _ be said, but right now Starsky needs this more. It’s comforting just to have Hutch there again, to be able to touch him casually, familiarly. Even if maybe whatever’s in the future isn’t exactly what they had in the past, for a few moments Starsky and he can comfort each other. It’s warm and alive, and it lets Starsky get his thoughts together without losing it, anyway. 

Hutch can feel the lump in Starsky's throat, since it matches his own, but Starsky doesn't need to say anything, really; Hutch is the one who owes him the apologies. “I won't leave again. Not like that. Not  _ for _ that.”

Even in this progressive era, werewolves pride themselves on mating for life, if after they've fooled around a bit in their youth. Hutch feels almost embarrassed about his past now, now that just being in Starsky's arms on his couch feels so good. Hutch gets his hands over the top of Starsky's arms and holds on, too. “Not unless it's you telling me to leave.”

“Hutch, you dummy,” Starsky says, tight voiced, keeping his face hidden right against Hutch’s shoulders. He doesn’t have to say that he hadn’t asked Hutch to, that he wouldn’t in the future, either. Maybe it’s dogs that are supposed to be more loyal, but Starsky would give them a run for their money, once he’d decided someone was worth it. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously when you said you had boundaries the wolf didn’t,” he finally manages, holding on tighter. “We can find a way to make sure those stay in place, alright? Whatever it takes. I won’t talk about it anymore.”

“No, no,” Hutch says, relaxing further, as a kind of resignation. “We should talk about it. Ignoring it did this in the first place. Me ignoring you, not letting you talk, did this. Only—can we talk about it later?”

Hutch is so tired, and actually kind of hungry, now, but he doesn't want to move. 

“Yeah,” Starsky says, taking a deep breath, letting it out shaky against the back of Hutch’s neck, before he gives Hutch a little pat. “You must be exhausted. Let me get up and get you some food, and then you can sleep. I think I kinda want to, too, and I haven’t had half as bad a week you did.”

Hutch turns to smile up at him, gratefully. 

“I think we both had a pretty rough couple of months,” he murmurs, before Starsky can think that just because Hutch wasn't alone that he didn't feel Starsky’s absence acutely. He takes his hand and kisses it softly, on the back of his knuckles, where in wolf form he likes to lick him in greeting. That he can smell even a trace of himself on Starsky smells so good it makes Hutch want to cry.

Starsky pulls away only reluctantly, pausing to gently push Hutch’s hair back from his face, like he might be sneakily feeling for his temperature to make sure it wasn’t high, before he goes into the kitchen to come up with something Hutch might like to eat. He hasn’t been in in a few days, either, so he discards a couple of old pizza boxes from his fridge, and checks the milk with a sniff test that reveals it’s no good, before he faces down his fridge and finally finds some good Miso stock from his downstairs neighbor, and some veggies that are still crisp. A little careful negotiation of both and he comes back with broth fortified with mushrooms and some crackers and some chopped up chicken that had been in his freezer, waiting for chicken soup.

“It’s, uh, unconventional,” Starsky apologizes, but it smells good anyway. He lets Hutch have most of it, taking a cup full for himself and sitting in his wicker armchair in a mostly boneless heap as he drinks it, looking a little like a big kid who’d gone out and played too hard. 

“It's amazing,” Hutch says, finishing up his bowl, and getting up to get himself a second, holding up a hand to tell Starsky he can do it. He smiles. “If you  _ must _ get up, be on the couch when I get back.”

He's wolf-hungry now, though, so he comes back with the phone book, too, in case they need to order some pizza, and a beer for Starsky and some more water for himself. “It's good, Starsk, this soup is really good.”

“That’s hunger talking,” Starsky says, blushing a little. No one had ever accused him of being anything like a good cook. “Like when a guy says he likes his C Rations.”

He's at least moved to the couch, so Hutch will forgive him the self-deprecation.

He finishes only his cupful, and waves the rest off, letting Hutch finish the rest of it, before they both figure they should order something, and maybe something more substantial than a pizza. They settle for takeout from an italian place up the street, because it’s fast and Starsky can walk there and back in less than ten minutes, and then he watches Hutch eat most of it with an amused look. “If you and I ever get hungry at the same time, we’re gonna decimate a supermarket.”

Hutch grins at him over a mountain of frutti di mare and teases to lighten the mood, “Maybe it's okay if we're a little out of sync, for now.”


	8. Chapter 8

After eating such a massive amount, Hutch stretches out on the couch, his back arched and belly distended. He doesn’t hurt all over quite so much as before, but he’s exhausted—even though he’s done nothing but sleep for the past few days. 

“All right if I sleep over?” he asks, watching Starsky carefully for his reaction. Now that Hutch is feeling better, he’s able to see things from his partner’s point of view, and doesn’t expect Starsky to take him back like nothing happened just because he nearly died. “I mean, on the couch, or—wherever. You should get some rest, too. I’ll just crash here.” 

“I’ll make you a deal,” Starsky says evenly. “You promise not to freak out no matter what position we wake up in, and you can sleep in the bed with me.”

Maybe it’s a little bit of unfair pressure, but honestly Starsky would really like to just curl up with Hutch and sleep for a while, and besides, Hutch is suspended for the week, so they can sleep in, anyway. They don’t have to talk about it until Hutch is ready but Starsky wants to take two steps forward and keep them this time, instead of having to take a step back right after.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hutch agrees instantly. “Promise. I-I don't care what position we _fall_ _asleep_ in, much less—I just—”

He grabs Starsky’s hands, squeezing them. “I know I messed up. So, whatever you want. You call the shots.”

Starsky squeezes back, steady, reassuring. “Well, everybody messes up. I’ll give you as many chances as you need, right? So come on, partner. I’ll sleep better if you’re with me anyway.”

“You’re...so much more than I deserve,” Hutch says softly, like he’s talking to himself. He’s feeling better, and no longer hungry, and no longer as emotionally fragile, but the invitation still somehow makes him want to cry. He vows to never betray Starsky’s love ever again, and stands up, massaging Starsky’s hands in his. “I’ll sleep better, too, with you. No wolf, j-just me. Thank you.” 

Hutch follows Starsky into his room, and waits for Starsky to get into bed first, waiting until Starsky pulls him down into his arms. He resists only until he's said his piece: “You know not everyone would—could forgive—uh. Leaving you was the stupidest thing I ever did, Starsk. We'll work it out. We will.”

“Hutch,” Starsky says, stripped down to his boxer shorts and pulling the blankets over both of them without letting Hutch go very far. He muscles Hutch over so they’re both on their sides, arranging himself comfortably with all their limbs entangled. “Of course we will. We pretty much already have, right? And we’ll work out the next thing, and the next.”

“Yeah,” Hutch says, happy to be arranged however Starsky wants him. He slings an arm behind him, hooked around Starsky’s waist.

Starsky presses a kiss to the back of Hutch’s neck, and then yawns, sounding self-satisfied. “Besides. I knew you’d be back. I may not be a werewolf, but I know my own mate.”

Now Hutch really is in tears, but he blames his admittedly rough week. No one, he's sure, has ever had anyone—friend, brother, mate, partner—like Starsky, and Hutch rolls abruptly over to bury his face in Starsky’s chest, to clasp him tight with all four limbs, to try several times to answer and eventually give up. He falls asleep like this, with Starsky’s heartbeat loud in his ears and his scent in his nose. 

...

Hutch wakes before Starsky, from hunger, he thinks, somehow, and spends a few minutes peeling their sticky skin apart so he can get up. He thinks Starsky is still on duty today, so Hutch should make him breakfast—a Starsky kind of breakfast, with potatoes and eggs and dark coffee and not a smoothie in sight. Starsky spent so long taking care of him, it feels good for Hutch to return the nurturing.  

The arousing smell pulls Starsky up from his comfortable sleep—the deepest he’s had in awhile, he’s pretty sure. He smells bacon and butter and hears frying, and rouses like a kid come home again at holiday, except his holidays never quite smelled like this. Starsky pauses long enough to wash his face, to shed some of the excess warmth from the blankets and Hutch, before he joins him in the kitchen.

“Well, you didn’t have to,” Starsky says, “but I won’t say I’m not grateful that you did.”

“You  _ should _ be grateful I have never been asked, point-blank, by your mother if you regularly keep something in excess of  _ two pounds _ of bacon in your fridge, because if she did I would fold. Undercover cop or no.”

Hutch is back, announcing himself by complaining about Starsky’s food. 

“It’s an emergency supply,” Starsky defends himself, with a shrug. “Besides, I been eating my feelings.”

Two pounds of bacon is a lot for anyone, and it was, he found, close to turning, so Hutch put the half he didn't cook into the freezer. But he is happy to eat some himself, of course, and cook hash browns in the grease, so he isn't without vices. But there's eggs, too, and sliced banana and apples, and biscuits, and, well, probably more food than the both of them can reasonably eat, actually. 

“I might have gotten carried away,” Hutch admits suddenly, and kisses Starsky’s cheek when he goes for coffee. He's wearing Starsky’s boxers and an apron, and softens a bit. “And good morning.”

“You definitely got carried away,” Starsky says, pouring a cup, and topping off Hutch’s mug. “But I always accept food-based apologies. Nice shorts.”

“They're your shorts,” Hutch points out. “And this isn't a food-based apology. I'd have to do this every day for three days or be cursed, or you'd have to eat everything or you'd be cursed, if it was a formal—I'm kidding.”

Hutch laughs and whacks Starsky’s ass with the spatula before he turns the eggs. “This is...a food-based thank you. No rules on those.” 

“I like to think there’s no magic mumbo jumbo involved in food,” Starsky says, reaching a fork into the pan to pull out a bite of hash browns, blowing on it a little before he eats it with a blissful expression. “I have to think that food can’t be magical or I’ll get paranoid, anyway. Though that explains so much about your joyless approach to feeding yourself.”

“Hey now,” Hutch says, but is only gently offended, and smiles. “I was kidding. Food is just food, even for us.”

But Starsky isn't listening. He eases an arm around Hutch’s waist, leaning hip to hip into him, and just enjoying having him back. Even the bacon, piled high on paper towels to keep it crispy, isn’t calling Starsky away until he fulfills his need for touch and contact, and that may take a while.

Hutch doesn't know how they can spend eight hours in bed together and still need this, but he's grateful they both do. Werewolves require a lot of touch, as a rule, but Starsky seems to need even more. Hutch turns, gets Starsky in his arms, and noses in for a kiss, soft and chaste, first, and then deepening. The world fades away enough that Hutch can't even berate himself for ever thinking he could give this up. 

“Eggs,” he says helplessly, when they break for air. “I need to stir the eggs.”

Starsky laughs, gives him a quick peck on the cheek, and lets him see to the eggs. “I always liked ‘em a little brown anyway. You better sit down and help me eat this feast.”

“Yeah, of course,” Hutch says, stirring the eggs before dishing them out, scrambled, onto two plates. 

Starsky settles at the table, putting his feet up on one of the other chairs, and when Hutch joins him at it, he settles his feet in Hutch’s lap instead, reclining and eating comfortably, and then with more gusto. His appetite hasn’t been the greatest since Hutch split, alternating days of listless disinterest in food with days of gorging junk, but in this case, even though it’s all simple, it tastes amazing. Maybe his Ma was right (though not about bacon); food with good company tastes better. 

They eat in silence, but Hutch finishes first, his appetite returning to something more like normal, for him, and then he sits and just enjoys watching Starsky eat. “You're going in today, right? I was thinking if you could drop me by my place, I can pick up some things. Go for a run, go to the store, bring some clothes back so I don't just steal all of yours.”

He wonders about leaving his car parked at Starsky's for the week, and shakes his head. “You could pick me back up on your way home. Assuming you want me here all week.”

Starsky gives him a look like he won’t dignify that with comment. 

“You gonna be okay on your own today?” Starsky asks, once his plate is clean and he feels fortified. “And maybe  _ don’t  _ stop in for lunch, I think if Dobey sees you he’s gonna blow his stack.”

Hutch laughs, trying not to imagine that. 

He picks up his plate and when Hutch starts to get up, Starsky reprimands him. “Uh-uh. You did breakfast, I’ll wash the dishes. You should still be taking it easy.”

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” Hutch says, following Starsky into the kitchen, even if he doesn't help. “I won't go for the run if it makes you feel better. Just, you know. Get some stuff together, walk down to the corner shop for groceries. Check on my plants.”

Hutch hopes this is not totally weird that he feels the need to report his whereabouts to his partner. But it's not because he has to—like he’s worried Starsky won’t trust him—it's so Starsky won't worry. Also, he did recently disappear and nearly die, so if that's codependent it's at least for the right reasons.

“You can go for a short run,” Starsky tells him, scrubbing a plate and leaning back to kiss Hutch’s cheek. “I mean, you gotta start to recover after all this somehow. But imagine your body has my voice and listen when it asks you to stop, alright?”

Hutch rolls his eyes, though it's fond, and he smacks Starsky’s ass. “Got it, mother.”

With all the dishes in the drainer and dripping dry, Starsky dries his hands on the dish rag, and then tugs Hutch with him as he heads back to his room to get dressed. “You gonna be okay at your apartment, after all this? If you need me to pick you up early, just call.”

“I will, but I'll be fine,” Hutch insists. He waits until Starsky has dressed before turning him around to face him, and squeezes his shoulders. “I think I can stomach the sight of the place in the daylight. Are you gonna be okay dealing with Dobey all by yourself? For a week?” 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Starsky laughs, grinning at Hutch. “Dobey likes  _ me,  _ on account a I got such a winning personality.”


End file.
